It's a kind of darkness
by Martkos
Summary: Methos is musing about some of his darker preferences. Mild !  slash-fantasy & mention of BDSM. Don't like - don't read.


I don't own "Highlander" nor any of the characters — they belong to Davis - Panzer. I make no money from this—please don't sue me, I'm only a poor nerd.

Methos was sitting in MacLeod's dojo, sipping his beer and watching the Highlander going through some of the martial arts routines he was so fond of. His eyes wandered over his friend's muscular body, admiring the elegant flow of its deadly movements. Deadly. Yes, and sexy as hell. Some of Ovid's verses sprang to his mind, _m__ilitat omnis amans, et habet sua castra Cupido; Attice, crede mihi, militat omnis amans _- "thy lover is a soldier, and Cupid has his camp. Yes, believe me, Atticus, every lover is a soldier." He sighed. It was like this. Everytime he faught a battle with himself trying to make him stay away from the Highlander's training sessions. Every time with the same outcome: he failed.

MacLeod had once asked him, why he came to his dojo just to watch, instead of training himself. Methos had almost blushed, but only almost, and muttered something about cold beer and a theoretical brush-up on the techniques. He grinned to himself when he thought about the innocent look on the Highlander's face as he had asked. His answer had been a lie of course. He did not care about martial arts at all, but Duncan really did not have the slightest clue. Methos believed that it was the half-sentence about the beer that had done the trick. Nobody doubted that he would do almost anything for a cold beer that was for free. Hell, he would also do almost anything for a stale and warm one.

Truth was that he just needed his regular dose of this sexy Scottish goodness packed into one human form and named MacLeod. Not that he would ever admit this to anyone, although he believed that Joe suspected something along these lines. He had made some snarky comments lately. But perhaps Joe was just cranky because he had hacked his computer – again. What really astonished him, though, was that MacLeod still had not noticed yet that Methos had never even for one second paid attention to the katas when they talked about missteps and technical flaws afterwards. Even if he had tried, he would not have been able to muster the concentration needed for straight thinking because as soon as MacLeod started his practice he fantasized about what these strong and muscular limbs could do to him in other circumstances.

This was the darkness inside him, as he had come to call it. MacLeod did not know this, but when they had fought for the first time and he had felt the need to let the Highlander win so that Kalas would not get his head, the feeling of Mac's sword on his throat and the aggressive closeness of the Highlander had aroused him. It had been a long time since he had been able to allow himself the pleasure of such games. Even if some of his friends thought so, he surely had no death wish. Not really.

But he knew that MacLeod would never understand this darkness he carried in himself. He did not know, where it came from. Perhaps he had been born this way. Most people he had encountered in his long life did not understand the temptations such darkness presented. They could not fathom the ways in which pain and lust and dominance could commingle. Sometimes he dreamed about the old days, when he had had the control over so many lives, over so many people and had enjoyed the knowledge that it lay within his power to end their meaningless existences whenever he pleased. The thought made him shudder, not because of its atrocity, but because he still could feel the thrill and arousal such memories brought. Not that he enjoyed hurting people because of the pain itself. The pain, he had come to realize, was just a byproduct of the power he wanted. He wanted to have total control. Oh, he liked to be dominated sometimes, but generally, he wanted to make the decisions.

With MacLeod it was slightly different though. He had caught himself dreaming about strong hands forcing him into an obeisant position so that a certain someone could have his way with him. He stopped himself in mid-thought. Fantasizing about dominance and submission games with the Highlander would not make it easier to fight his (literally) growing arousal. He sighed and rubbed his face with his free hand and took another sip of his beer. Those dreams were all he had nowadays because either there was nobody he would trust enough to let him take control in bed or there wasn't anybody strong enough to dominate him. You needed some of the darkness inside you to be able to do that. Kronos had carried it, Duncan, however, did not. And he was simultaneously sad and happy about this. Smiling wryly he took his coat and slipped out of the dojo unnoticed.


End file.
